


(Life's the same) it's all inside you

by ClementineStarling



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: Karen fantasizes about Billy.





	(Life's the same) it's all inside you

On the one hand there are principles; there is common sense. (She's twice his age, a married mother of three.) 

On the other hand there are the stacks upon stacks of romance novels she devours, the bottle of wine she empties every evening, Ted's general disinterest, her little pink vibrator, and not to forget: the lurch her stomach gives every time he walks by. It's obvious she shouldn't feel like this, but she does. And he's encouraging it. She has seen how his eyes narrow when he looks at her, how he bites his bottom lip, how there's just a little bit more swagger to his gait when he's spotted her. Not to forget the compliments. _Love the hair, Mrs Wheeler. Nice lipstick, Mrs Wheeler. Dig the new suit, Mrs Wheeler._

And that first one of course, as cheesy as it was: _I didn't know Nancy had a sister_. 

She's had eight months to contemplate that first meeting, replay it in her mind, over and over again. How he looked at her (like he wanted to eat her), how it made her feel. Shy. Bashful. Almost naked under his gaze. But also alive. Excited. Her heart racing, her cheeks flushed. The jolt of electricity when he touched her hand, the surge of warmth when he took it in his. The low, sultry purr of his voice and the shivers it made run down her spine. She can't help imagining the pet names he'd call her, the endearments he'd whisper while he'd fuck her. 

God. Karen covers her eyes, half in shame, half in an attempt to somehow, miraculously, keep the memories at bay. But they won't stop coming; they tumble through her mind like leaves in autumn. More of them, faster, as the arousal pools hot between her legs. She remembers him biting into the cookie, suggestively, lewd. The things he could do to her with this mouth. He _would_ eat her if she let him. She squeezes her thighs together, tight. Pictures him, the smugness, the beauty, and her heart aches.

What if she had invited him to stay for a glass of wine? “Can I offer you a drink?” she could have said, and he would have smiled at her and accepted and then, at some point, put one hand on her hip and the other on her jaw, tipping her chin so he could kiss her. He would close the distance between them, slow, teasing. His breath hot against her face. His chest smooth and firm under her fingertips while she tries to convince herself to push him away and fails. At last, the first brush of his lips over hers, lush and soft and gentle. 

Karen sighs at the thought of his pretty mouth nipping at her lips. Playfully tugging at her bottom lip, sucking, biting. She feels as though she's melting, hot, wet, feverish. Then his tongue slips into her mouth, slick, greedy, and his sweetness is crumbling away. His fingers dig into her hips, into her ass as he pulls her forwards, flush against his firm body and god, he's hard for her. Karen's breath is coming in gasps, when he pushes her up on the kitchen counter, her legs spread around him. He pulls away the dressing gown, and then his mouth is on her breast, on her nipple. She almost screams with pleasure but he puts his hand over her mouth to shut her up.

“Quiet, Mrs Wheeler,” he tells her, and then he goes back to sucking at her rosy nipples and his hand sneaks between her legs, two fingers at her entrance, pushing inside. She's so ready for him, so slick, it's embarrassing. He fingers her, thumbs her clit and her pussy clenches around him so hard, she thinks she's going to come right away. She can't wait for him to fuck her properly, to feel his cock inside her, stretching her, claiming her. 

Sometimes he takes her right there, bends her over the kitchen counter and fucks her from behind, deep, rough, savage thrusts. Sometimes they make it to the bedroom and he slides down the length of her body and she buries her hands in his unruly mane while crawls between her legs and laps at her cunt, sucks at her clit, thrusts his tongue into her until she thinks she's going mad, her thighs trembling, the tension unbearable. She's hovering at the edge until he makes a small, needy sound, a whimper almost, and it's only then that she's falling. Coming. She squirms under his mouth as the ripples of climax tear through her, the wonderful spasms of her pussy clamping down on his fingers and when she's done, he'll come crawling up to her and kiss her, face wet with her pleasure, and she'll lick her own slickness of his tongue, and then he'll slide into her, his cock so much larger than fingers or tongues and oh so much better! She's close to passing out with the sheer delight of having him inside her.

“Don't you love it when I fuck you, Mrs Wheeler,” he will rasp and snap his hips, fucking her harder. He'll grab a fistful of her hair and pull, and tell her how tight she is around his cock, she'll get high on it. Higher and higher she soars, a kite on the wind, and the sudden tug when the line pulls tight, and another orgasm rolls over her like thunder in the sky.

Sometimes she also imagines how it would be to suck his cock, getting on her knees before him, his thick shaft stretching her lips, gagging on it, or crouching over him, holding him down, fully in control as she takes him into her mouth. How it would feel to ride him, pleasure herself on his dick while he'd simply lie on his back and take it. How he would look, eyes wide and ink-dark, lips parted, helpless underneath her, lost in sensations, hands grappling at the sheets. 

“Don't you dare touch me,” she would say and he'd be such a good boy for her.

So many positions, so many roles, so many encounters. Her fantasies would fill volumes if she wrote them down but instead, she buries them deep at the bottom of her mind. He's a school boy, for fuck's sake, still almost a child, hardly older than her own daughter. She would never, not really – or would she?

It started as a joke, the whole charade at the pool. They all thought they deserved something nice, a daily dose of fantasy, and dreaming must be allowed, right? Even for housewives and moms. They're only _looking_ , after all. And it's not as if he doesn't enjoy the attention, Karen thinks. He flirts with them all the time. Not just with her, but with her… there's another quality to it. He flirts with her like he means it. And then there's the offer, _Motel 6 on Cornwallis. A little fun._

Just a little fun. It's sounds so easy and harmless. The world through a teenager's eyes. It's not as if she doesn't remember how it is to be 18 and irresponsible, and she longs for that freedom. For some actual adventure in her life.

 _Fuck it_ , she thinks as she looks at herself in the mirror, _I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna drive out to that seedy motel and let that pretty boy fuck my brains out._

_


End file.
